Dragon Run
by SeysaaHynn
Summary: Takes place in the Harry Potter universe. All I'm sayin'.
1. After The Flood

After the proverbial flood, is there anything left unsaid?

Accusations?

Excuses?

Confessions, questions, blunt statements, requests, pleads, apologies, lies, fire, ice, venoms?

Or maybe just a scream.

A good, long scream, like a banshee announcing the death of an entire world.

A scream that rips the throat apart, so everyone can see the pulsing heart lodged in the trachea so that each beat is a battle with a breath. Because that's what it's like, living like you are dying.

Clarissa Gawain was an old soul. It seemed to many that she had, from her tower of strength and knowledge, she had seen it all, and could judge all with the clear accuracy of a Truth Potion. It was those very ones that took her for granted, expected her to trot the hall of the Ministry, heels clicking loudly, coffee in one hand, black book bag in the other and dog following close behind every morning of every day, forever and ever and ever.

But she was an old soul, and breaking.

It is said, that when dogs are about to die, they run away to a lonely place.

"You're not dying on me, are you, Monster?" Clarissa asked. For some reason her eyes had misted over.

The wolfhound regarded her solemnly through his functional eye.

"Thank you."

There was silence for a while.

"Up we go then," Clarissa said. "Let's see what the child is up to."

She made no move to sit, though.

It was hard. So unbelievably hard, and she thought idly if this whole affair would spawn a monster. One broken heart, one gray monster egg. Two broken hearts…

That is the moment when the pain gives way to restless anger, when breaking things and crying is just not enough and you pace and pace and pace, fingers twisting spasmodically and each sob burns your lungs.

Then your legs give.

Then you cry, cry, and then cry some more.

Then you do something drastic to try and wash it all away.

Clarissa Gawain stood. She tried to get her breath back.

Then she broke her wand in three and burned the pieces.


	2. Some dreams and a scrap of paper

Aunt Clarissa's stern voice roused Diana from her daydream. She hurried downstairs, nearly bumping into Monster, Aunt's giant wolfhound, who eyed her unblinkingly as she made an unnecessarily wide arc around him and into the kitchen. Clarissa Gawain wasn't actually related to them, but for as long as she can remember she had had to call her "Aunt" and suffer her sharp, critical gaze all through admittedly rare weekend visits.

"Honestly child, you must learn to be more attentive! I've called you two times and you didn't even answer."

The "I'm here, aren't I?" burned on her tongue but she knew better and tried smiling apologetically. It must have come out as a strangled grimace, judging by the disapproving scowl she got for her trouble.

"There is a letter for you, _Diana_", Mum said pointedly, not turning from her turnip-chopping.

Momentarily distracted by the grim prospect of yet another tasteless health dinner, she didn't notice the yellowed parchment Aunt Clarissa had thrust under her nose until she felt the peculiar smell of wet feathers. She took the envelope, wincing as a piercing look bore into the back of her skull. The yellowed envelope, addressed in lilac ink to _Miss Diana Michelle Fairbrook, No. 5 Main Street, Midsommer, _contained a sheet of parchment on which the following was written likewise in lilac ink:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_Headmistress: Vivian Vortigern_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Chief Counselor Witch of the I.D.A., International Confed. of__ Wizards) _

_Dear Miss Fairbrook, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on September 1. Please send your answer by the owl coming to you on June the 29th. _

_Yours sincerely, _

_Andrew Bode_

_Deputy Headmaster_

Owl, thought Diana fleetingly. That's why it smells like wet feathers.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_UNIFORM _

_First-year students will require: _

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black) _

_2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear _

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) _

_4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) _

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags _

_COURSE BOOKS _

_All students should have a copy of each of the following: _

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1 )by Miranda Goshawk _

_A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot _

_Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling _

_A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch _

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore _

_Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger _

_All About Animals by Christine Figg_

_The Dark Forces: First Steps to Self-Protection by Annamaria Villari_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT _

_1 wand _

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) _

_1 set of glass or crystal phials _

_1 telescope set _

_1 brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad _

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

"What day is it?" she asked no one in particular.

"Never mind that", Aunt Clarissa said uncharacteristically considerate.

"I take it you want to go", Mum said.

"Yes please."

"Excellent. Your mother and I have some things to discuss, so please take Monster out for his afternoon walk."

"But…"

"NOW."

Diana sighed and took the leash. Monster, despite his advanced age, was very strong and any attempt in walking him like a normal dog was futile; next to Diana, who was small for her age, he was as big as a pony with a strange haircut. But she did what she was told anyway, because nobody disobeys Aunt Clarissa and Diana, who had always been scatter-brained and distracted, had yet to fully realize that she was a witch and would soon get her own magic wand and get into a train with a scarlet steam engine that would take her to a most wonderful place – The Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Meanwhile, an argument had broken in No. 5 Main Street. Aunt Clarissa never raised her voice but spoke pointedly and forcefully; Gillian Fairbrook's each word dropped heavy like a death-sentence. They were, of course, arguing about Diana; it was the same argument they had every year since the girl had been five years old and had caused the roots of the hated turnips to become wormy, squiggling appendages with which they had crawled off the kitchen table, out of the kitchen, and into the ground outside, disturbing Dad's priceless experimental breed roses.

You can't keep her away, Aunt Clarissa would say. It's her destiny. She has magic in her blood

Just watch me, Mum would answer. It was that blasted magic that killed her father, wasn't it? It's dangerous! I'm not letting my child into the lion's den!

It's not dangerous. If it were, how come we're still around? Aunt Clarissa would try to pacify her.

I don't know. I don't bloody know, but you're not taking her from me!

And so on. But at this point the argument is useless, because Diana's fate has been decided.


End file.
